


The Gates of Love

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Extra Treat, F/F, Ghost Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Aredhel waits for her lover during Gondolin's greatest feast.





	The Gates of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/gifts).



Aredhel leans against a marble railing, far from the carousing crowds, waiting impatiently for her lover on this day when the whole town is singing and dancing and the summer sun shines over Turgon's hidden city. 

At first, her lover only came to her at night, when Aredhel lay awake in her bed and stared at the ceiling of her lonely room, lost in bittersweet memories. 

At first, Aredhel had been frightened by the sudden drop in temperature that heralded her arrival. She didn't even believe she was actually there. But the presence gently parted her legs with icy hands and crouched down between them, and touched her in ways only Elenwë had ever touched her, long before she became Turgon's wife. Her tongue flicked over Aredhel's clit with the familiar precision of Elenwë's tongue and her hands fondled the inside of her thighs, her ass and her breasts with the same caresses that elicited loud, surprised moans from her inexperienced self centuries before.

Aredhel's hand clenches on the balustrade, her body reacting to the memories of how she got used to having sex with a wraith. She hardly minds the strangeness of their encounters now, not when Elenwë smiles at her while she pleasures her, though her smile is hard to catch. All Aredhel can see of her is a faint silhouette, transparent like glass, or thin deadly ice.

She has long wondered why Elenwë only comes to her, and not to Turgon or Idril. Turgon looked hurt when Aredhel ventured to speak of his late wife coming to Gondolin, didn't understand what she was hinting at, and Idril just shook her head sadly. 

So Aredhel keeps her secret, and welcomes her sister-in-law, her first lover, to her bed whenever Elenwë pleases and however she pleases. 

Elenwë's ghost is fickle – playful almost.

Sometimes she spends whole nights making love to Aredhel, who shivers through orgasm after orgasm until the morning finds her exhausted, her overstimulated clit and nipples hard and throbbing, her wetness spread all over her thighs and soaking the sheet beneath her.

Then there are nights when Elenwë only makes her come once or twice then stops and vanishes, leaving Aredhel aroused and wanting. Aredhel continues to touch herself, imagining Elenwë's lips on her nipples, her cold hands cupping her breasts, her tongue trailing over her bellybutton and lapping at her slit, up and down until Aredhel is a writhing mess of gasps and moans.

Now Elenwë comes to her while the sun is still high, too, wresting her from the town's dull routine, and that's what Aredhel hopes will happen today, the day when everybody else is content to sing ancient songs at the sun and frolic with the living. Aredhel has sung too, but only to avoid raising suspicions. 

She shifts restlessly on her feet, throwing annoyed glances at the crowds below her. And then she shivers with sudden cold, and Elenwë grips her breasts from behind, and kneads and juggles them before pinching her nipples. She pulls on them, rolling the hardening nubs between her fingers. Aredhel doesn't restrain her moan, doesn't care if someone should see her – the way her cheeks flush, the way her body tenses, the way her nipples stand out clearly against her light summery dress when Elenwë lets go of them. Her hands slowly slip down from Aredhel's breasts. One settles on her belly, sending delicious ripples of ice all through it, the other slides further down, a hiss of cold air like laughter tickling her ear when Elenwë touches her between her legs and finds the dress is the only thing she's wearing. 

“I've been waiting for you,” Aredhel breathes out. 

Elenwë must be pleased with that. A finger finds Aredhel's clit and presses on it, rubbing it in slow maddening circles. It is soon joined by a second, and together they slide lower still, stretching the fabric of her dress over her slit. Aredhel jerks and clenches her thighs as Elenwë presses her fingers to her opening, teasing her until she's dripping and a patch of wetness stains the front of her dress.

Aredhel hurries to her room before the throbbing between her legs makes it too uncomfortable to walk. Once there, Elenwë traps her against the door. Aredhel hikes her dress up with one hand, and spreads her legs, her breathing ragged. Elenwë kneels behind her and starts licking both her openings. Aredhel keens and arches back against her, pressing her breasts against the door, her taut nipples rubbing against the wood. Her first orgasm seizes her soon after, when Elenwë pinches her clit while her tongue flicks against her arsehole. Elenwë doesn't stop licking and fondling her even while she thrashes. Happiness fills her.

Her own private celebration has just begun.


End file.
